So here's the thing...I'm terrible at writing about myself. Here's me, trying to do it anyway. Don't judge me too harshly. :)

I have circumnavigated the globe using only a towel and a small door to stay afloat. Don't ask me what the towel is for; everyone should carry one at all times.

Pluto annoys me. It sits out there on the edge of our solar system being all planet-like for years, and then it thumbs it's nose at us and says, "eh, I was a moon all along." The nerve.

I believe I can fly...as long as I've made sure there's a very soft pad waiting for me at the bottom. It's not the fall that hurts, folks, it's the landing. Don't try it at home.

Though I do not travel around in a blue box, I would do so in a heartbeat if the right Doctor showed up.

I defeated an evil wizard bent on destroying the...wait, that's Harry Potter. Sorry. Got lost in a good book series for a second.

Zombies scare the crap out of me. Vampires are okay, werewolves are boring, but zombies...they just. Keep. Coming. It's freaky. Plus they probably smell gross.

I once had a dream in which three human-sized chickens (one green, one purple, and one yellow) terrorized my neighborhood. They wouldn't let anyone go outside, and I remember braving the mean streets just to get to my next door neighbor. Why? To watch Batman, of course. Because why else?

Oxford commas are a thing, folks. Get used to them or go home. They're my favorite punctuation mark. I even have the bumper sticker to prove it.

I pretty much knew I was gayer than the day is long when I was eight. It just took me fourteen years to admit it to anyone else. I'm slow about some things.

Freud sucks. That is all. (I could go into an explanation, but why waste the thought on it?)

That's about all I can come up with for now. As I said, I'm not good about talking about me. I'm boring; it's my stories you should pay attention to. They aren't (hopefully) nearly as boring.